


Windows

by Owlship



Series: Lifelines (Soulmate Fics) [7]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: (not important to the plot i just wanted y'all to know), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bodyswap, F/M, Max Stays, POV Alternating, The Splendid Angharad Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9111127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlship/pseuds/Owlship
Summary: It happens at the worst possible time. Furiosa has never given much though to finding her soulmate- never assumed she evenhasone- but as she glances out the window of the War Rig she locks eyes with what she thinks is a bloodbag tied to the front of someone's car and her vision swoons; when the world comes back into focus she is looking atherself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'll only stop writing soulmate fics when I'm dead, probably.
> 
> ([obligatory tumblr link](http://v8roadworrier.tumblr.com))

It happens at the worst possible time. Furiosa has never given much though to finding her soulmate- never assumed she even _has_ one- but as she glances out the window of the War Rig she locks eyes with what she thinks is a bloodbag tied to the front of someone's car and her vision swoons; when the world comes back into focus she is looking at _herself_.

She swears violently and jerks her head back to face the growing sandstorm ahead, though it's no longer something she can _see_. Her vision has been overtaken with the bloodbag's, and he doesn't seem inclined to do anything other than stare wildly in several directions at once, facing not much more than empty wastes.

Furiosa hears something scraping from inside the cab and then Angharad's indignant "We can't breathe down there!"

"Get up here!" Furiosa shouts at her over the din, even as she hears the Buzzard truck roaring alongside her, saw revving up. "I need you to see for me!"

The bloodbag's driver turns around to drive in reverse and suddenly she can see the War Rig, can see the Buzzard. The saw hits against her window and she ducks out of the way with a shout, trying to reconcile what her ears are telling her and what her borrowed eyes are seeing.

Angharad gives a shriek at the grating metal-on-metal, hot burning sparks undoubtedly landing on her skin even in the hatchway, and then yells, "What?"

It would be better if all of the Wives are hidden away in the hold like they're supposed to be, but she needs to know what's going on around her and without her sight that's nearly impossible. "Get up here and tell me what you see!"

She can hear her crew shouting, explosions from thundersticks. She can _see_ her crew from the outside, can see when the saw's deactivated and when the Buzzard truck gives way, tearing off a chunk of the Rig with it.

It's too loud to hear if Angharad has crawled back into the tanker or not, and her vision swims as the bloodbag once again reverses direction to face the growing dust ahead. There wasn't anyone close behind her on that side she doesn't think, but trying to focus on what someone else is looking at when the rest of her senses tell her she's somewhere else is nearly impossible.

"There's a storm ahead," Angharad says, and Furiosa jerks her head in her direction reflexively despite the fact that she won't be able to see her.

"Take these," she says and pulls her goggles up over her head, thrusting them blindly in the direction Angharad's voice is coming from. "And cover your face."

The bloodbag's fallen behind her now and she sees the vague white shape of one of her crew swinging towards the cab at the same time as she hears the thunk of boots landing. She turns blind eyes to him out of habit, a check-in glance that she can't see.

"Why can't you stop?" Ace says, "Why can't-!" He breaks off to suck in a horrified gasp. No doubt he's caught sight of Angharad. A hand wraps around her neck and he demands, voice betrayed and angry, "What have you _done_?"

There's a gun in her hand- she doesn't remember grabbing it, must have gone for it on reflex when the Buzzards came knocking at her door- and she swings it out towards where his head should be, metal hand scrabbling to break his grip on her airway. Behind her Angharad lets out a weak shout.

She has to hit twice before she feels it connect solidly enough for his grip to fall away, and she sees in the bloodbag's vision that Ace hangs off the side of her rig mostly limp, face bloodied. A gunshot rings off her door and she turns the wheel to ram into where she thinks the bloodbag's car is, vision wavering from the hit but not blinking into blackness.

"Flames!" Angharad calls out, and Furiosa hasn't seen anything from the left where the bloodbag is which means she turns her attention right, feels the heat and crackle of a flamethrower.

She rams them too, sloppy and inexact and hoping she doesn't run the Rig afoul. "What else?" Furiosa demands when she can't feel the flamer any more, when she can't hear anything but the roar of her engines and the howling of the wind.

"The storm," Angharad says, "There's a storm ahead!"

"Check the mirrors," Furiosa tells her, and starts pulling her scarf up over her mouth and nose. After a moment of hesitation she slips it over her eyes as well. The bloodbag's crazed, off-kilter vision fills her eyes no matter if she closes her own or not, and without goggles she's risking damage.

"They're catching up behind us," Angharad says, awe and terror in her voice.

Furiosa shifts to a higher gear and hits the nitro, hearing and feeling when she hits the wall of sand that's been brewing since she started running. Her heart is hammering in her chest, vision useless as it shows her the sandy exterior of another car entirely and all her other senses too weak to combat the din of the storm.

Lightning strikes all around her, hot flashes of ozone over the swirl of toxic dust.

"What do you see?" she demands of Angharad. She can feel the dips in the earth under her tires and the air currents through her open window, the electricity in the air, but she can't hear approaching engines. The bloodbag finally closes his eyes against the storm and her vision goes black, aside from bright red flashes of lightning.

"Left!" Angharad says around a sandy cough, "A car's coming."

Furiosa weighs her options in a split second, the noise of a roaring funnel close. She swings the wheel and crashes it into the car. The movement overshoots and she feels the strong air currents pull at the heavy War Rig and tilt it up and up, wheels spinning free of the ground for a long breathless moment.

They slam back down with a groan of metal but the Rig keeps moving, and she exhales a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

The bloodbag snaps his eyes open and her vision fills with the sight of a War Boy spraying himself chrome, mouth moving.

"A car's coming up ri- ah!" Angharad breaks off into a startled noise, the sound of shattering glass in her ear.

Furiosa watches the bloodbag blindly smash at the car's window while she tries to pinpoint their position. She can see a brightly burning flare in the War Boy's hand and jerks the wheel, trying to evade what she knows is going to be a suicide attempt meant to take her out as well.

"They're in front!" Angharad shouts.

"Get down!" Furiosa replies, right before she feels the Rig impact what must be the car, a solid crash of metal against metal.

Her borrowed vision flashes and swirls in a dizzying jig and then goes black.

A few seconds pass and the War Rig's engines don't blow up, and if the car managed to light anything on fire then the sand smothers it before it can become a problem. "What else?" she asks Angharad, straining her ears for anything.

"Nothing," she says, voice muffled under fabric. "There isn't anything behind us."

Furiosa bares her teeth in a smile and drives, feeling the storm lessen and her engines start to protest the sand they've inhaled. "Look ahead," she says, "Tell me what the terrain is."

"Sand," Angharad says, "It's hard to see but it's just sand."

She pushes on for another klick or so and then, Angharad confirming that there isn't anything behind them that she can see, she rolls to a stop before she burns out the engines.

"Get the others out," Furiosa tells her.

"Furiosa..." Angharad says, "Why can't you see? Are you hurt?"

A hand lands on her shoulder and she twitches away, too hopped up on adrenaline to do more than repress the instinct to lash out.

"Get the others," she repeats, and opens her door. Her vision is still black and she wonders what happens if your soulmate dies before the bond is complete, if she's going to be stuck with a dead man's view of the world.

She hears Angharad follow her to the ground and then hears the hatch open while she searches by feeling for something to knock the sand away with. Furiosa bangs her prosthesis against the side of the Rig a few times, hoping to get at least some of the sand out, and then unbuckles it to hang off the side mirror to be dealt with later.

Her vision flickers back to life just after the Wives have started hosing themselves off, the gurgle of water a counterpoint to the sharp smacks of her unclogging the air intakes. The bloodbag isn't dead yet, then.

She'd taken off the scarf but wonders if she should put it back on again, unsure if the bloodbag will try to return to the War Party and gain favor by leading them to her and the Wives. But she watches through his eyes as he wildly attempts to unhook himself from his War Boy and thinks there's no love lost between him and the Citadel.

Furiosa works to get the engines ready to run as effectively as she can while her vision shows her things that are entirely unrelated to what she's doing. Their blinking syncs up, flashes of shared darkness. Her skin crawls with the thought of what comes next.

The bloodbag rounds the corner of the Rig, and Furiosa calmly looks in his direction, using his vision to pinpoint where he is. Through his eyes she can see herself and the Wives, his gaze drawn to the water he can hear but can't see.

"We're not going back," Angharad says decisively, and shuts off the hose.

Is it better to be blind the rest of her life? The bloodbag's gun is loaded with duds but hers aren't, and she's sure she could manage to hit him given a few bullets.

"You," he rasps out, voice parched and accusatory.

The Wives look between them, confused. From the bloodbag's perspective she sees understanding dawn on Angharad's face, the only one of them to know for sure that she currently can't see.

"He's your..." she says, but trails off.

How is she going to drive them through the canyon blind? She can't, of course, and neither can she have one of the Wives drive if she's meant to be alone. But she also can't even for a second imagine letting this bloodbag, this _feral_ with the metal spikes of a muzzle intruding on his vision, under her skin.

Before she can decide the choice is taken away from her. The bloodbag launches himself at her in a blind run while the Wives shriek, and Furiosa dodges the rush as best she can but- his fingers brush on an exposed bit of skin and her world turns upside down.

The both of them collapse in a heap, vision going black.

 

* * *

 

When Max opens his eyes, his point of view has finally reconciled itself with what he feels, his consciousness rooted inside the Imperator's body instead of his own. He's staring up at his own face, crushed under his own body's weight. Almost before her eyes are open she's lashing out at him, punching her own body with heavy blows and growled curses.

He bares his teeth and kicks at her to get her off him, but it's the other women who pull her up enough for him to squirm out from underneath her.

"I should kill you for that," she says in his own voice when they're both standing, the women shaken off with an irritated snarl. He's never seen himself from this perspective before, certainly never with that fucking muzzle on his face. He wonders if it's her rage or just his own face that's making her come across as so feral.

Max grunts, and looks down at where her- his, now- left arm ends in a scarred stump. He'd seen the metal replacement hand through her eyes but he hadn't really thought about what it would be to actually have the limb gone. It's eerie to feel like the hand _should_ be there but to not see anything, like it's numb from him entirely losing circulation. "Had to be done."

She huffs derisively, but it's true. He doesn't know if it's possible to live like that forever, senses all split up, but it'd fucked with him bad enough that he's glad to be rid of it even if it means he's trapped in her body, trapped in her company.

She turns to the other women, staring between the two of them in confusion. Max flexes the hand he _does_ have, sinks his new toes into the soles of his newly borrowed boots.

"Get the boltcutters," she says.

"What's going on?" one of them asks, looking like she might be willing to jump into the fight.

"They're soulmates," the pregnant one says which explains it all, and he knows that's what this is but he still feels a jolt of sickening terror at hearing the words. It means nothing- _she_ means nothing to him except for a potential way out of the Citadel- but just the fact that it's happened at all is far too exposing for him to be anything even resembling okay with it.

She scowls but nods her head sharply. "I'm Furiosa," she says, and waves out her hand to indicate him. "That's... whoever _this_ -" she jerks her thumb back at his body's chest- "belongs to."

She reaches up to tug at the muzzle and adds, "Now get this thing off my face."

Max watches as the woman with white-blonde hair steps over the unconscious War Boy and snips off the lock. He can't help but feel a sliver of relief even though he isn't the one wearing it any more; he's spent too many days trying unsuccessfully to get it off.

"So you're Furiosa now," she says, peering intently at his body's face.

"Not for long," Furiosa replies as she throws the muzzle down to the ground.

It'll only be twenty-four hours before the switch reverses itself and he can reclaim his real body, and Max thinks she's looking forward to it as much as he is.

In the distance he can hear the deranged music drifting in and he turns to look, sees amid the shimmering mirages near the horizon the shape of far too many cars. He thinks about just getting into the truck and driving away, but he doesn't want to leave his body behind. Stalemate.

"Get in the Rig," Furiosa says, and the women in white follow her order without complaint.

Max ignores her and walks to the War Boy, yanking at the jacket he's wearing until it's free of his body. "This is mine," he says, clutching the dusty leather like she's going to take it away. It's the only thing he _can_ reclaim, unless he wants to waste this perfect escape opportunity to try getting his car back.

"Get in," she repeats coldly. "My body dies, you die."

"Same," he says with a glare, and makes to get into the truck. He's unfamiliar with how this body moves, what the reach of its limbs is, how much weight it can support. He's also unfamiliar with not having a second hand, nearly slips and falls back onto his ass when he unthinkingly reaches out for a hand-hold he can't use.

He takes the passenger seat and ignores the women staring at him from the back in suspicious curiosity to watch Furiosa use his body to climb up herself, the sight strange and disquieting. It isn't anything like looking into a mirror; everything from the way she holds herself to the words she says to the simple fact that he's _watching_ all this makes him feel an acute sense of vertigo.

She dumps the tangle of metal and leather that is her prosthetic hand between the front seats and then flips some switches, the rig rumbling to life.

Max breaks his gaze away from her and instead looks out the windows; it's just too strange to try and look at his body like this. He doesn't think any of the other women- the 'prize breeders' he'd heard the War Boys talking about while he was getting bled, no doubt- will do anything to hurt him, not his body while Furiosa's in it and not him while he's in her body.

"You've got company," he tells her, what is definitely a new group of people materializing out of the dust. One of the other towns the Citadel is allied with, though at this distance he couldn't say which.

Furiosa glances out the window besides him and her gaze darkens; she doesn't look surprised. The women in back grab binoculars from somewhere and identify the cars as Gastown, and headed up by the People Eater in the flesh no less. There's another party to their other side and they're penned in, nothing but a looming wall of mountains up ahead that he really hopes she isn't planning to try and drive through.

Of course it turns out that she is, the rig trundling through a wide crack in the cliffs.

"You need to drive," she tells him when they're too far in to turn around, teeth gritted.

He furrows his forehead and lets out a confused noise. Unless she's fucked something up when he wasn't looking, his body's capable enough of driving.

"They're expecting me, alone," Furiosa says, and then turns to direct an order at the women. "Get in the hold. Keep the hatch open."

Which means they'll be looking for her body, rather than his. He doesn't know who "they" are but he isn't entirely surprised to hear that she's made a deal with whatever group's claimed this stretch of canyon. He has no desire to try his hand at acting but he also really doesn't want to be stuck here when the war parties catch up. "What's the play?"

"Safe passage for guzzoline," she says, not looking at him. "They'll seal the pass behind us."

He hums in understanding. A blocked route will at least slow their pursuers down for a while; he'd be incredibly surprised if all three just turned around at such an obstacle, considering the force they mustered in the first place. The last of the women has disappeared down into the tanker, leaving them alone in the cab. "You gonna pay up?" he asks, peering at the approaching mountains.

That must be what's in the trailer dangling at the end of the tanker; probably a couple thousand gallons, he'd guess- a kingly sum, and certainly something that'd be useful to keep with them. A deal's a deal, but if she's already smuggling passengers he has a feeling she doesn't care very much about upholding the terms.

"Take the wheel," Furiosa says without answering him directly, moving out of the seat and sliding into the rear of the cab. "And put the arm on," she adds.

He glances at her when he's taken over the seat, then down at the pile of leather and metal. He hadn't really seen how it goes on or off and attempting to get it on one-handed while driving into the mouth of a canyon is one of the more difficult things he's done today. She offers no help, just watching as he fumbles with it; he eventually gets it on securely, though two of the straps are twisted up and he has absolutely no idea how to make the fingers move except by accident.

She abruptly leans into his space and Max twitches away, surprised by the action and completely bewildered by what she's doing when she rubs her fingers against the steering column. Her fingers come away greasy black and she smears them over his forehead, his own face dizzyingly close to himself. She pulls away a second later without a word and he belatedly remembers the way the War Boys would blacken their foreheads. He hadn't gotten a long enough look at her before their vision swapped to know if she was wearing it or not.

Then she kneels down in the open hatch, and he focuses fully on navigating the increasingly treacherous pass. "Stop just past the arch," she tells him, and he grunts in understanding.

How the hell he's going to impersonate an Imperator to a group he knows nothing about for a deal that's going to go sour he doesn't know, but when he cuts the engine he only allows himself a second to panic.

Max peers up at the rocks as he gets out and can only halfway see three figures mounted on bikes; he's sure there's at least twice more hidden away. "I've kept up my half," he calls up to them.

There's no response. "Drop the rocks and you'll get your guzzoline," he says, starting to walk away from the cab as if he's going to unhitch the pod for real.

A motorcycle rider roars into view flanked by two others and leans precariously close to the edge of one of the crags. "You said, a few vehicles in pursuit. Maybe. We count three War Parties!"

He winces internally but keeps walking, bluffing his way as best he can. If he keeps attention on himself they might not notice Furiosa getting ready to start the truck and drive away. "We doing this or not?"

There's no response by the time he's reached the hitch and he glances around again, decides that they're probably not going to hold back their fire. Just on the other side of the archway is an approaching car and the pounding in his chest kicks up another gear; if they don't get the pass sealed off they might not be able to accelerate fast enough to get away from the Citadel and cronies, but if they can hold onto all this guzz...

Max bangs his borrowed metal hand against the side of the tanker, hoping the signal is clear enough, and dives for the other side of the rig, away from the motorcyclist who'd been speaking.

The shooting starts almost immediately but so too does the truck's engine, and he runs on legs that don't have splinters of bone in their joints to catch up to it. He can't make it to the cab quick enough but he catches a glimpse of arms extending from under the tanker, and slides under to find a dark opening in the metal. The women are inside and help him up, the ground starting to gain real speed below him.

When he climbs through the hatch in the cab, Furiosa hands him a loaded gun and without another word they fight off the canyon-dwellers together, shooting in sync nearly seamlessly.

She gets her- his, when he gets it back- hand crushed against the door and they lose the steering wheel, but the fuel pod shaking loose results in the Citadel's warlord veering off their tail, his own car crashing in his haste to get away from the explosion. Probably not enough luck in the world for him to die from something like that.

 

The engines demand a break, hurting from the fire and the strain of running so fast, and they roll to a stop to tend to them. Max does the stop-gap repairs she directs him to and says nothing, even when he watches her heft a rifle and snipe a motorcyclist he can barely see, let alone hope to aim for.

The women give a sigh of relief when the figure topples, and isn't replaced by another. From the response- three towns mustering their armies, no small affair- he's sure there will eventually be more, just as soon as they clear the rocks.

"Hey," Furiosa says when she's stowed the rifle again, and he turns his head towards her, eyebrows raised. "What's your name?"

He goes rigid, not having expected the question. His immediate instinct- what the fuck does it matter, he's only with them as far as it takes to escape the Citadel- is tempered by the sight of her wearing his body, reminding him of the fact that they apparently have a fate-ordained connection. The only people who say his name anymore are the dead, buzzing in his ears like flies, but he reluctantly tries again. "Max."

"I'm Furiosa," she says, though he's already heard her name.

Max nods, not really looking in her direction. He doesn't regret initiating the switch since he'd needed his mind cleared of the kaleidoscope of her vision and the sooner it's started the sooner it can end, but he still feels deeply uneasy with the entire affair. Anything to get away from the Citadel, where they'd branded him like a steer and stole just about everything- his car, his fucking blood, even his goddamn jacket- is worth it, though.

After a moment he says, because now he's thinking about it and he doesn't know when they'll stop again, "I don't know what they wrote on me."

Furiosa looks at him steadily as she considers the implicit request, no pity in her eyes. He'd scratched at the itch of healing skin as deeply as he could, but he knows that he couldn't reach most of it. "Read quickly," she eventually says, turning her back on him and pulling up his shirt.

The words aren't by themselves very large but they're deep black and they cover far more of his skin than he wants. It's all upside-down, meant to be read as he's draining into some War Boy's veins, but he can make it out easily enough.

Max runs his fingers across her back unthinkingly to trace a line up high on her shoulders- 'ISOLATE PSYCHOTIC', a pronouncement that makes a morbid part of him want to laugh- and she jerks away. He mumbles a noise he hopes stands in for an apology and then lets out an angry breath at the thought that this fucked-up shit is etched into his skin forever. "Done," he says.

She's quick to cover herself back up, stepping away to put some space between them. He can't fault her for the desire, wants to escape it himself.

"You'll want to fix the straps before they chafe," Furiosa says after a few seconds. She nods towards his middle, where he bungled getting the belts connected to her metal arm properly attached.

He undoes the contraption, taking care to try and untwist the leather so it lays properly. She watches in between scanning the horizon but offers no commentary, and once he gets the main strap right the rest come easily enough, even with only the one hand to work with.

He flinches when one of the women speaks from closer than he expects, having not noticed any of them approaching. "So you're really soulmates? I've never seen anyone bond before."

Furiosa replies with a curt, "So it seems."

Max says nothing, scans the area for something to do with his eyes. The notion still seems outlandish to him, though he has all the proof he needs right in front of him that they're connected, and thinking about it too deeply makes him itch to start running despite how terrible an idea it is while he's still in her body instead of his own.

He doesn't have any romantic ideas of what it means, doesn't think that they're destined for anything no matter what the universe has apparently decided. He barely knows how to function as a single entity, can't imagine having to balance an entire other person in his life.

 

He takes over driving when they get back on the road, glad to have something more to do than watch out the windows. He's starting to learn how to make the metal hand on his left arm move the way he wants it to, claw-like fingers flexing open and closed again against the makeshift steering wheel.

The rest of his borrowed body he's done a good job not thinking about more than he has to, how strange it is to be in a form that's undeniably female. He's gotten used to how her reach is a bit longer than his, the differences in the places they each have old hurts, but it's strange to look down and see one slender organic hand and one made of metal, to have his balance altered and feel parts he _really_ isn't going to dwell on.

Next to him Furiosa digs out something from a compartment in the dashboard. "I'm going down to do repairs," she tells him, and he hums in reply. It isn't like he can stop her, though he'd rather not be left alone with the girls in the backseat.

It doesn't take long for the pregnant one to take over the just-vacated passenger seat.

"You're really not Furiosa," she says, as if there hasn't already been ample evidence to make that point clear.

Max grunts in reply, not taking his eyes off the ground ahead.

"Why'd you have that thing on your face?" another asks, and he flicks his gaze to the rear-view mirror to send a baleful look their way.

"Because he bit someone's schlanger off," the white-blonde one says with relish. "They lock up the crazy ones."

He stays silent; the first is true enough and he wouldn't be able to refute the second if he wanted to.

"I think it's good that he's helping now," the redhead says like she's used to diffusing tension.

"Do they let men into the Green Place?" the one who looks far too young for the purpose he knows Joe kept them for asks.

" _Someone_ must have made them mothers," the shortest of them says, and he isn't looking at them but he can hear the sly grin in her voice.

Max wishes they would stop talking at him.

"You'll be welcome to stay," the pregnant one says with conviction, as if she'll have any part in whatever decision-making goes on in the settlement they're headed for.

He doesn't say that the thought of staying anywhere makes his heart race in panic, that he can't even dwell on what it means that he's sharing Furiosa's body because the last thing he wants is anyone having expectations, anyone depending on him for anything.

His lack of reactions gets boring to them after a while and they chatter amongst themselves instead, talking about green this and future that in a way that does nothing to ease the panicky constriction in his chest.

 

As darkness falls and the foul smell on the breeze gets stronger, the rig gets mired in ground that's suddenly turned to sucking mud. Max can hear that fucking music again now that their engine is idling and looks for approaching lights as he lays down a line of mines.

Then they get bogged down _again_ and this time someone's shooting at them; Furiosa calmly lines up her rifle's sights and blows out their searchlight with a single shot.

It's only a short reprieve before the gunfire starts again, this time with added mortar fire that sends the girls running for cover up over a ridge, shouting back that there's dry ground. He works with Furiosa to heave the rig up out of the mud, engines straining near to breaking but holding just long enough to see them to relative safety.

The bullets are landing on the other side of the ridge for now, but he knows it's a matter of time before they creep up. Max grabs a few things to take care of the problem with- decently sharp blade, jerrycan with some guzz sloshing around it, one of their last landmines- and only remembers that he isn't in a position to _not_ return until he turns around to remind them to drive down the track and sees his own face staring back at him

"I expect my body back in one piece," Furiosa tells him, and the words have an undercurrent of something that unsettles him. Like she's not concerned first and foremost just with how much damage he might accumulate for her.

Taking care of the Bullet Farmer and his men is a horrible affair, the way that killing always is. Max is startled into an adrenaline-fueled laugh when one of them calls him Furiosa; he'd forgotten that they don't know.

Looting the car and bodies is better, easier; all he needs to do is shove as much useful-looking stuff into a sack as he can before the mine goes off and blows it all sky-high. He pries off the steering wheel as a last-minute decision and then starts slogging back for the rig, the bag trailing behind him heavier than he thinks it should be.

 

It's only as he's calming down from a nightmare, the vague sort that's only half memories, that Max realizes he hasn't been hearing any of his constant companions. His head is quiet except for himself and he slants a look over to Furiosa, wondering if she's picked up the slack for him. If his ghosts can't tell that it isn't him in his body anymore.

He hopes not, if only because he wishes the experience on very few people and she hasn't made the list.

 

Midday approaches and Max waits for the switch back, relieved that it shouldn't be much longer. He wants to be back in his own body and he wants this trip to be over, wants to watch Furiosa get reunited with the people she's sure are the ones who are running the obviously-a-trap tower and then run the hell away. He doesn't think there's really anyone there- there's _someone_ up in the tower sure, but not the way she means, the way she'd spoken of with the sunrise in their eyes.

For her sake he finds that he wants there to be and that adds an urgency to his desire to run.

They sit parked with the tower close enough to see splicing the horizon, but not so close that they're in danger of being shot at.

Max rubs at the stump of his borrowed left arm to relieve the nagging feeling of a muscle cramp near his currently-nonexistent-wrist and thinks it won't be much longer, now.

The angle of the sun slowly creeps to what it had been after the sandstorm and the atmosphere of the cab turns to tense anticipation, no matter how they try to pretend they're occupying themselves with other tasks.

It happens between one breath and the next. Max is sorting out bullets and then his hands are running over thin hydraulic lines, and he hears Furiosa take the same deep inhale he does as their minds snap back into control of the right bodies. He takes quick stock of his body, noting the way his left hand went from a frightening sort of numbness to pained like he might have cracked a bone, sharp and real.

When he's sure that he isn't just imagining that it's over he clears his throat, and turns to look at her for the first time. The reason the switch happens is to keep love blind, supposedly. To get to know your soulmate before you _see_ them. The invention of mirrors pretty well killed that idea and the thought of _love_ makes the panicky feeling in his chest tick faster, but Max still hadn't done more than catch accidental glances while he was inhabiting her body. It just hadn't felt right to examine her face and body like that.

He'd gotten familiar with how her body feels as it moves, how it looks from her perspective, but he's surprised to see how it comes together, surprised by how fierce and beautiful she is. The expressions and mannerisms that had looked so out-of-place to see on his body look right at home on hers, and there's one shade of tension missing from around her eyes now.

"Did you want to drive?" he asks instead of saying anything about their changed situation, gaze flicking over to the tower cresting the horizon ahead of them.

Furiosa shakes her head. "We may still need a quick getaway."

"Are you back?" the palest of the girls asks, suddenly leaning between the front seats as she looks from one to the other.

"It's over," Furiosa says, and it sounds final enough but he sees the way her eyes dart over to look at him through the mirror, though he can't decipher her expression.

 

* * *

 

That night Furiosa wraps herself up in a blanket that smells as much like sand and exhaust as it does long-dried herbs and listens as what's left of the Many Mothers discuss what to do now. With the supplies from the War Rig they can get a fair distance, maybe far enough to cross the Salt and put this place behind them for good, but Angharad is too close to delivering for a journey like that to seem the best option.

There's been enough traffic around here and the other two towers they travel between to scrape up a living, and with the addition of a few new sets of hands they might manage larger scores, but it's a miserable life.

If there's anyplace they can settle at within fifty day's ride, none of them have heard of it.

Maadi is acting as sentry, keeping an eye out for danger. Max is the only other person sitting apart, hunched in on himself next to the War Rig as he fiddles with something. She hasn't said a word to them about him being her soulmate, just vouched for him being safe. Reliable.

Will he live up to that pronouncement? Furiosa isn't sure, can easily see him peeling off to go his own way. Now that they're back in their own bodies the bond is complete and there's nothing keeping him here other than his own will, and if she's conflicted about how she feels towards their situation she can only guess where his head is at.

Valkyrie bumps their knees together and she tunes back in to the conversation, wondering if any progress has been made.

"She certainly speaks her mind," Val says to her in a near-whisper, faint smile on her face. Across from the fire Angharad looks to be going toe-to-toe with Gale, firelight glinting in her eyes and her hand resting on the curve of her belly.

Furiosa makes a wordless noise of agreement and listens to what she's saying. Across the Salt after all, it sounds like. It'll be hard if she goes into labor before they make it to the other side, but... it'll be hard to manage a delivery and possible infant no matter where they are.

She sees Gale relent, and a vote goes around the circle. Furiosa nods her agreement, still too raw to contribute much more than estimates of what supplies she's hauled with her.

"They 'ayes' have it," Joy says when everyone has answered.

She's surprised by how much better it feels to have a mission, a goal again, rather than being left at loose ends. The circle seems to break up, the fire mostly stubbed out and a kettle hung over the coals. Furiosa gets up and walks with Mellita and Valkyrie, knowing that a decision might have been reached but the conversation isn't over.

"He deserves a bike," she finds herself saying once they're out of easy earshot.

"We'll need all the capable riders we have," Mell says easily, misunderstanding.

"No," Furiosa says with a shake of her head, "He deserves a bike to leave on." She wants him to come with them but she doesn't know if he will, and she won't see him stranded.

"He can have the truck," Valkyrie says, only halfway joking.

"We might have something," Mellita allows, "I'll have to talk it over."

"And supplies," she says. A tank of guzz and bottle of water is well and good, but won't last him more than a day.

"Supplies? Furi, if you're talking about him leaving..." Val says soberly.

"He's earned them," Furiosa replies because he _has_ , and bites her tongue down on the surefire argument that she doesn't want to have to use. If she tells them he's her soulmate they'll be far more lenient, but she doesn't want them to know, doesn't want to say it. Especially if he does leave.

"That's a tall order," Mell says with a slow shake of her head. Thanks to the Rig they have more water than they can carry between them, and plenty of greens that will only spoil rather than preserve, while Max has only the jacket on his back. But even unused blankets have history, and their guzzoline needs to be distributed carefully, and despite the sackful of ammo from the Bullet Farmer they'll need to be sparing with weapons.

"He's just as likely to come with us," she says. They'd spent a day under each others' skins and she's still feeling the remains of it, doubts he's shaken it off so quickly either.

Mellita sighs. "I'll pass the idea around," she says, and clasps her weathered hand briefly on Furiosa's shoulder before walking off.

Valkyrie looks at her with a raised eyebrow, then glances over her shoulder to where Max is leaning against the side of the tanker, head tilted to look up at the stars. "Where does he fit in?" she asks, turning her gaze back again.

Furiosa looks away from her, towards a random patch of wasteland. If she can tell anyone here she can tell Val, and there's no guarantee that the girls won't talk about it simply because they don't know she would rather they not. "We matched," she says, and glances up at her. "Switched places and everything."

"You switch- he's your soulmate?" Valkyrie says, voice quiet but full of surprise. "Why didn't you tell them?" She nods her head to where Mellita is conversing with Gale and Keeper, now.

She doesn't have a ready answer. It's as much her secret to share as it is his, and of all the people in the wasteland her own clan are the least likely to attempt to exploit the connection. But she can _still_ scarcely believe it's happened, and he's earned a ride and supplies with his actions anyway. "We only switched back today," she says.

"That's why you were parked out there for so long," Val muses, and then seems to realize the broader implications. A soulmated pair only stays in each others' bodies for twenty-four hours after the first touch. Furiosa doesn't know if there's a limit on how long the switched vision can last, but those few hours were hard enough.

Valkyrie reaches out and slings an arm over her shoulders, the feathers sewn onto her shoulder tickling against her face. "Your timing remains spectacular," she says, a teasing lilt in her voice.

She's not above digging an elbow into her side for the remark, but still allows the embrace to continue until Mellita comes back, Annie following.

"Go tell your man he has a bike," Mell says before Furiosa can glean the answer from their expressions.

She ducks her head in acknowledgment and says nothing about him not being _her_ man, sure they mean nothing beyond the fact that she's the one who vouched for him.

"And supplies, right?" Valkyrie asks on her behalf.

"Whatever's left when we're done," Annie says. It's not the best deal, but there's no guarantee that he won't be coming with them, anyway.

She nods a second time and ignores Val's pointed look, instead when there doesn't seem to be any more conditions forthcoming turning to walk in Max's direction.

He's sitting again, hands busy with something that he tucks away when she approaches and asks if they can talk. Furiosa goes a few paces beyond the front of the War Rig, out of earshot to anyone who isn't listening very intently, the foreboding white Salt spread out in the distance below them. She can feel him at her back but doesn't turn to look at him.

She lays out the idea for him while he says nothing and then turns a little to him while she tells him about the bike, and she has to look away from his face again when she asks if he'll come with them. With her.

Max is quiet for a moment, and she has no idea what his thought process for this is. "I'll uh," he says, and then licks his lips. He's looking at her like he's scared, and confused, and everything she feels when she thinks about the fact that they met just over a day ago. But in the wasteland you grab onto the things that you need, that you want, and she knows that they can be good together in a way that has nothing to do with their supposedly matching souls.

"I'll make my own way," he says.

She has to close her eyes and look away; Furiosa had thought she was okay with the knowledge that he might not come with them but she was wrong, apparently. She grits her teeth against the bitter self-recrimination that wells up and bites down the strong desire to leave without saying anything, to let this be one more thing lost to the sands.

"Max," she says, and intends to say that she _wants_ him with them, but stops herself when she sees the panic that overtakes his expression just from hearing his name. She blows out a breath instead and shakes her head dismissively, turning to start walking away.

"It's uh," Max starts to say, and she pauses to hear what he has to say. His eyes look sad in the dim lighting, but they stay fixed on her. "It's not you."

She huffs silently; even she knows that line.

He shrugs a little helplessly and Furiosa waits for him to follow it up with something, but he only turns his face away.

 

The night turns colder, darker. The former-Wives are curled up in a pile around each other on blankets over sand, the Vuvalini ranged out as sentries or else tucked into their own lean-to shelters.

Furiosa climbs up into the cab of the War Rig when the last of the fire is extinguished and isn't much surprised to see Max with his legs stretching out over the back seats, back propped against the door. She'd meant to head for the front seats but opening the back door is a habit; when camping with her crew she's the only one who sleeps inside the Rig without invitation, and takes the bench seat for herself to stretch out across as a matter of course.

His eyes are open, but his expression is lost to shadow. Out on the plains like this there's nothing to break up the wind and so it roars around them, sucking all the heat out of the air; she can very nearly see her breath.

"Budge up," she says, rather than climbing through to the front. There's room for the two of them on the seats and it'll be warmer the closer she is to another source of heat.

Max swings his legs off the seat and she closes the door behind herself, moving to lean against the cold metal of it. But he makes a quiet wordless noise that draws her attention and when she looks over he's got his arm halfway draped over the back of the seat, hand beckoning her over. "Warmer like this."

She studies him for a moment in silence, weighing the offer. It's true that sharing body heat is a good idea, plain survival- but it's also true that she doesn't know if she can cozy herself up to him knowing that she'll never see him again after tomorrow morning. She stifles a sniffle; her nose is cold enough that it's going to start running soon.

Furiosa takes a seat next to him, a handspan of space between them. The leather under her is warm from where his legs were resting against it and after a moment she sinks down a little, thigh pressing against his and her head resting against the arm he still has over the back of the seat.

His hand slowly moves to rest against the cap of her shoulder, more a vague weight than anything else through the layers of blanket and shirt. With the luxury of so many people watching her back for the night she's taken off her belts, the bracer that keeps her middle from taking so much abuse, and now that she's close enough to smell the wildness of his skin she regrets taking away the barrier.

"I can't be what you want," Max says quietly, sparking anger like a challenge through her.

She rolls her head to look in his direction, the dirt-caked leather of his jacket rough under her cheek. "Who said I want you to be anything," she says, even as she knows that she's already said what she wants- for him to come with them, to stay with her.

He's quiet then, gaze aimed somewhere around his feet. Furiosa lets her eyes run over him, profile picked out with starlight. He's handsome, and she has firsthand experience to know that he's healthy, and she wants there to be but she isn't at all convinced that there's anything to be found on the other side of the Salt. She'd been so sure the Green Place would be there waiting for her and look where that got her.

He turns his face back to her, maybe feeling her gaze on him, and the arm around her shoulders tightens fractionally, an unconscious movement.

Before she can think better of it she pivots, throwing a leg over his to straddle his lap, arms uncrossing to brace herself against the back of the seat next to his head head. He startles, eyes going wide with surprise and hands hovering open-palm in the air.

Furiosa waits for him to shove her off, or protest, but all that happens is he relaxes by inches. One of his hands moves to rest lightly against her upper arm, the other against her thigh. His eyes trail over her face, expression pensive.

She leans forward, stopping just before her mouth can brush against his, breath fanning out in the millimeters between them. "What if all I want from you is this?"

He presses their lips together in answer, the kiss slow, tentative. She encourages it to grow between them, sucks Max's bottom lip into her mouth until he responds by coaxing her mouth open for him, the both of them sinking deeper into it. A day ago the only thing she wanted was to be rid of him and now she's hungry for the feeling of him against her, wants to explore his body in all the ways she didn't dare while she was switched with him.

The hand on her thigh moves under the blanket still draped around her, slides around her back so he's holding her against him. She wants him the way she'd want anyone attractive enough to catch her eye, just because it'll feel good; she wants him for reasons that have nothing to do with how he looks.

Furiosa runs her hand between them, slips it under the hem of his shirt to drag the material up, feeling him skin to skin. His muscles jump and twitch underneath her fingertips as she explores his flesh, rough places where his skin has knit itself back together, hard muscle over juts of bones like a landscape she wants to map. It's an entirely different thing to feel him from this side than it was to borrow his body for the day, makes her breathing turn rough and ragged to think of inviting him to touch her in return.

He makes a low noise and his arm tightens, brings her a little closer and holds her fast in a move that would sometimes have her kicking out but now has her eagerly pressing forward. He kisses just under the hinge of her jaw and she bites back a moan, takes her hand off his chest to grab blindly for his other hand and brings it to her breast, nipples pulled tight and sensitive only partly because of the chill in the air.

It makes him shudder underneath her and she licks along the tendons in his throat, his skin salty alongside the familiar wasteland grit. Max cups her breast with his big hand, thumb sweeping over the peak of her nipple, and the feeling of it even through her shirt has her pressing into him, rutting herself down against his body. He rocks his hips up in return, minute movements that nevertheless has heat building in her pelvis, one of his hands cupping the curve of her ass to encourage the rhythm.

The air between them is far warmer than it was minutes ago, insulated by the blanket that's precariously clinging to her shoulders. It won't be a hardship to fall asleep warm now, she thinks with an amused huff of air.

He hums inquisitively underneath her at the noise, eyes finding hers with a silent question. Nothing, she says with her lips against his, hand curving around the back of his neck.

"Touch me," Furiosa says out loud, voice sounding more unsure than the steady directive she'd wanted it to be. She's aching wet already, wants nothing more than to sink down onto the erection she feels rubbing against her through their leathers. It'll be just this once but it'll be worth it, she knows it will.

He makes a low rumbling noise and his hand slides from her breast down her front, teases at her waistband for a moment and then, once she's rolled her hips up in encouragement, slips inside. She gasps at the first brush of his fingers against her and lets out a stifled moan when he swipes through her folds, drawing his now-slick fingers up in search of her clit.

"Higher," she guides him, "Just about- ah! _There_."

Max is careful as he touches her, his coarse fingers gently circling around the slick skin of her clit. She lets her hips rock against him with more purpose, kisses him hungrily when he brings a finger down to the opening of her cunt.

Before she gets too far into it she pulls at his belt buckle until it's open and sticks her hand down his pants in return, takes his cock in hand. His skin is blood-hot under her fingers and at the contact he groans, the noise a hair too loud to be entirely covered by the wind.

"Shh," she shushes him even as she strokes down his shaft. She's touched him here before by necessity in a completely different context and she can't help but compare the difference now that he's hard, how the shape of his cock has filled out, hard and thick and foreskin drawing back.

He kisses her sloppily as she pumps her hand up and down, teeth carelessly scraping against her lips and it's Furiosa's turn to shudder.

He'd been distracted by her touching him but he starts moving his fingers against her cunt again, until she's panting with how well he's taking her apart, the hot arousal in her veins coiling tight in anticipation. Max sucks a kiss over the pulse-point of her neck and mumbles something against her skin that she doesn't really hear, but the feeling of his soft lips and rough stubble tips her over the edge, hips grinding against his hand.

She shakes against him as she comes, stifling the noise that wants to bubble out of her by shoving her face into the crook of his neck. His skin smells good to her nose, wasteland dust and leather and an earthy masculinity, and she takes it in with harsh breaths as she comes down. Where she was recently chilled enough to shiver she's now sweating, feels him like a banked fire against her front.

Max hums a question and when she's got her breathing under control she nips against his neck and then raises her head back up.

"I want to fuck you," she tells him, and belatedly realizes she's forgotten about doing anything more than just holding his cock in her hand for the past few minutes.

He licks his lips and nods, certainly not seeming to object.

She could take him like this, seat herself on his cock and rock against him, have him fuck up into her, except that she feels too exposed with the windows open to the night. Furiosa leans back and pulls him with her, coaxing him to turn with her until she's lying across the seats and he's over her, hot and heavy between her thighs. She's too impatient to want to get her leathers all the way off and is surprised when he does so for her, tugging her boots off and then sliding her trousers down entirely, the blanket trapped underneath her rough against her skin.

"Wanna taste you," he mumbles, pushing the hem of her shirt up, exposing her belly to the air. He hasn't even taken off his jacket and she's nearly naked, shivers with something between fear and a thrill.

She pulls him close enough to kiss, feels the sturdy leather of his gear against her bare thighs and says, "Later." She's not letting herself think about how that 'later' might manifest- later tonight, or a promise for the future that neither can keep. She does want his mouth on her, those lips of his and the scrape of stubble, but right now she wants him moving inside of her more.

Max says nothing in reply, only works a hand between them to circle around her clit again, until she's bucking up against him impatiently, crooking the leg not pressed to the seatback up to wrap around his waist and draw him closer.

"Fuck me," she says into his ear, urgent.

With a rumbling growl he hastily shoves his trousers down his thighs and then lines himself up, the broad head of his cock notching against her cunt.

She sucks in a breath as he presses inside, the stretch of it somehow unexpected even after having touched him moments ago, and grabs one of his jacket's worn lapels to hold him close as he buries himself to the root. He doesn't move for a long moment, head bowed and breath short like the pause is entirely for his benefit, and distantly she wonders when was the last time he had sex.

Then he starts rocking back and forth, short movements that hit her deep inside, and Furiosa moves her hips to match his, pushes back. He picks up the pace, leg sliding off the seats to brace himself against the floor of the Rig, and lengthens the strokes he's making until she's moaning and trying- futilely she suspects- to muffle the noise behind her elbow.

He hitches the leg around his waist up, opens her up for his thrusts to smooth out, and she unclenches her hand from his jacket to touch herself because if she doesn't come while he's moving inside her like this she knows she'll regret it. His cock skates past her g-spot effortlessly at this angle, each shove sending hits of electricity through her body that have her gasping, rough uncontrollable noises pushed out of her mouth every time he bottoms out.

Max's eyes are halfway closed but sharp even in the dim starlight, gaze avoiding hers but instead roaming over her, devouring. Her head knocks against the door from the force he's putting into his movements and she has to take her other arm away from her face to brace herself.

She rubs her clit and bites her lip against the urge to moan, and when he scrapes his teeth against the side of her neck she comes hard, not just her cunt but her entire body seeming to contract and then relax in pulses as she rides it out.

He doesn't attempt to control his volume but groans loudly and pulls out just as he begins to spill a few thrusts later, spattering cum against her thighs and the blanket below her.

His hold on her leg relaxes so she can slide it back to a more comfortable angle, his breath panting hot and damp against her collarbone when he slumps against her.

Furiosa closes her eyes and presses her face to his sweat-damp hair, regret starting to curdle the afterglow of what had been a spectacular orgasm. It was a very stupid idea to do this when he'll be gone forever because it hasn't really felt much at all like a casual fuck, not with the knowledge in the back of her head that fate had some hand in their meeting, that she'd been forced to trust him to keep her very body safe in her absence and that she'd done the same for him.

Max brushes lazy kisses against her skin, the scratch of his whiskers and the weight of his body suddenly overwhelming. He'd been the one to say he was leaving and now he's acting like a lover, all sweet and soft. If she asked him again would he say yes this time because she let him get his dick wet?

She pushes at him until he sits back on his heels, no sign of concern in his expression but just contented satisfaction, and sits up herself. His seed is sticky on her skin and stains the fabric of the blanket and she's angry suddenly, at him for making the mess and herself for wanting it.

The night air seems all the colder now that there's sweat drying on her skin and Furiosa brusquely cleans herself up with an edge of the blanket before tugging her clothes back on. He moves slower than her but he also only needs to pull his pants back up, and when she's fully dressed and can look at him again he's sitting against the door like he was originally, watching her with an expression that would be unreadable even in the light of day.

If he remembers anything about her telling him 'later' he shows no sign of making good on his offer.

She turns the blanket around so the stained side won't be against her clothes and with some reluctance settles herself up against his side to mirror the way they were before she let herself get so carried away. The night is still cold, and it still makes sense to share body heat.

Max is a solid line of warmth against her side, the expansion and contraction of his chest a distracting rhythm. She closes her eyes and listens to the quiet noise of the wind over the sand, waiting for sleep.

 

In the morning there's a vicious ache between her legs and far too many knowing glances directed her way. Furiosa folds the blanket so the stain- crusted against the fabric now, glaringly obvious- is hidden and shoves it into the bottom of the saddlebag attached to the bike they're giving Max.

She's in a foul mood because she woke up next to him- her rusting V-damned _soulmate_ \- and it was an easy embrace, warm and comfortable, something she was tempted to extend by pretending the sun wasn't cresting the horizon.

Valkyrie says nothing directly, but bumps her shoulder with a sly smile and raises an inquisitive eyebrow in Max's direction, asking a silent question.

Furiosa sends her a flat look in return and focuses on sorting through the bag of gear; he hasn't changed his mind about leaving and she's _fine_ with it, she just doesn't want to discuss it.

The girls are tired, but optimistic. Eager to make the best of things- there isn't a Green Place but there's freedom, and that's enough for now.

"Wait." She hears Capable's voice from a few paces away, tone disbelieving and words too loud in her surprise. "What do you mean you're not coming with us?"

Furiosa turns to the scene without really wanting to and sees Capable facing down a sullen-looking Max. His eyes flick to connect gazes with her like it's automatic, there for a second before darting away again. "It's better like this," he says, words almost too quiet for her to make out.

"But you can't!" she insists, "What about-" Capable turns, and Furiosa looks away right as the girl gestures to her. "You're going to leave your _soulmate_ behind?"

Furiosa closes her eyes and tightens her grip on the cooking pan she's holding. There's a split-second pause in activity around her as the word hangs in the air for the entire camp to hear, far too revealing.

"That's between us," he says after a beat. His voice is low, on the edge of anger.

"Furiosa," Capable calls, turning. "You can't really mean to let him go."

She looks over at her, a woman who's still too young in many ways. Idealistic. "Drop it," Furiosa says, voice firm.

"But-" she says, looking between them. Capable huffs a sigh and doesn't finish whatever she was going to say.

Max meets her eyes again, eyebrows drawn together just enough to be noticeable. She's the one to look away this time.

When the bikes are as packed as they're going to be Furiosa pulls one last thing from the War Rig before she leaves the truck behind forever. "Here," she says to Max, thrusting a length of black cloth at him. "It'll keep the dust out."

At the Citadel it would be tantamount to a promotion, giving him a black scarf like this. Only Imperators wear them. Out here it's just a scarf, something to cover his nose with when he rides his bike off towards whichever horizon he's picked.

Max takes it from her carefully, like he has some idea of its second meaning. He might, she realizes; he'd been prisoner long enough for his bloodbag tattoo and his brand to heal over, certainly long enough to have picked up on a few rituals taking place around him. His lips part and she thinks he might say something, but he only closes his mouth and hums, nodding his head a little.

Furiosa turns away from him and walks to her waiting bike, and no matter how much she might want to she doesn't look back to see him standing there, staring pensively out across the Salt at their growing tracks.

 

The last thing she expects is for Max to change his mind and so when they spot his motorcycle speeding towards them, her first thought is that he's seen some enemy- Joe having forced his way through the marsh after all, perhaps- and is coming to warn them. Instead he pulls out a map and says there's green back the way they came and she is too tired to be angry, or hopeful.

The women ranged out behind her take up the idea immediately, optimistic.

Furiosa lets their decision wash over her and knows that even if she speaks out against it, it's the sort of plan that they'll fight for. She looks up and him and he seems somehow ever-so-slightly more settled in his skin as he turns her words against him. He says _together_ like it means something, his eyes steady on hers, and when she claps their hands together in acceptance it feels a little bit like she thinks it's supposed to, having a soulmate.

 

She doesn't remember much of what happens after she's pulled up from the side of the Gigahorse, a hole in her chest and Joe's blood spattered on her face. Max holds her while her breathing gets more and more strained, and that's the impression that stays with her.

Furiosa remembers standing on the platform as they're lifted up into the air over a chanting swarm of Wretched but her vision swims, off-kilter enough that she vaguely wonders if she's looking through his eyes again. She remembers meeting his gaze as he stands on the ground below, disappearing into the crowd, and thinking dizzily that he'll come back just like he has before.

She doesn't remember working frantically to secure their newfound control over the wellhead, nor does she remember collapsing after.

When she breaks through the surface of her fever in the dark of night Max is laid out on a pallet next to hers, sleeping or perhaps unconscious. She isn't entirely sure he's really there- hadn't she seen him walking away?- but she moves gingerly to prop herself up and see better, unable to hold in a pained grunt as she upsets the stab wounds in her sides.

His eyes open at the noise, body jerking. He focuses his gaze on her and tries to say something, the word entirely unintelligible between his mumbling and the yawn that overtakes him halfway through.

Furiosa sinks back down to her cot. Even breathing hurts at the moment, though less so than it had before, and assured of his presence she doesn't have much energy to do more.

He clears his throat and tries again. "Need anything?"

"No," she says, and means it. But he's on her right side and she extends her hand out into the space between them; just because she doesn't need anything doesn't mean she doesn't _want_ anything.

There's a moment where nothing happens and then Max takes her hand in his, the touch tentative. She meshes their fingers together and feels a little more grounded already, even the memory of her fever-dreams receding.

"You came back," Furiosa says, quiet; to her own ears she sounds surprised and weak, shaky with fever and uncertainty both. She's still not sure if he really left in the first place, can't separate dreams from memories.

He squeezes her hand and hums, his thumb rubbing her skin in slow movements.

 

* * *

 

It is much later when Max wakes up one morning to discover that in a new twist, it seems that Furiosa has wrapped herself around _his_ body while they were asleep. Usually he's the one to reach out and hold on, and she pretends she's only putting up with the contact.

Then his mind wakes up a little bit more and he registers the fact that half his arm seems to be missing, and that his dick isn't where it should be, and that it isn't the Furiosa he's used to holding him but a definitely male body. He cracks open his eyes and looks down at himself to see that he's borrowing her body again, and after a moment of contemplation decides that the sensations are too fresh to be a dream.

"Hey," he whispers, and he can feel her come awake immediately.

A beat later there's a sleepy confused noise, and Max twists himself so he can look at her. Himself. Whatever.

"Max?" she asks, forehead drawn in confusion. "We switched again?"

"Happy anniversary," he says, which doesn't seem to lessen her confusion. He doesn't keep strict track of time- can't, if he's being honest- but unless there's something he hasn't ever heard of going on, it must be a year ago today that they met. He's very much glad that he managed to be here for the day, instead of out on the sands like he might have been.

It's weird to be looking at his own face instead of hers, but Max can still see her personality shining through. He isn't nearly brave enough yet to kiss her mouth the way he might on a normal morning, and instead tilts his head so their foreheads rest together. "How many days' it been? Since it all."

Furiosa runs her hand down his arm like she's testing for herself whether she's dreaming. He knows that she keeps a count, an old habit that doesn't need breaking. "About three-fifty. Why?"

He hums, and even as sleepy as his mind still is he knows she's going to get frustrated with him soon if she doesn't get answers. "Three hundred sixty-five," he tells her, and she huffs quietly as if he's trying to show her up with his count. "A year exactly since we met."

"It repeats itself?" she says, surprised but catching on immediately. He feels her wriggle in place, testing the dimensions of her newly-borrowed body.

"Mhm," he replies, and when her shimmy leads to their legs tangling, bodies slipping into hard-won intimacy even if the view is flipped, he says, "Promotes togetherness."

It is definitely strange to look into his own eyes, even more so when Furiosa has somehow managed to make them as piercing as her true gaze. "Togetherness, huh," she says, one eyebrow raising but a smile tugging at her lips.

In answer Max wraps his arm around her waist, drawing their bodies about as close as they can get with their clothes still on. The feeling of breasts pressing against a flat chest is utterly unfamiliar from this angle, as are the things happening in his pelvis when he feels a morning-hard dick against his belly. The fact that it's his own dick makes things awkward- is it narcissism to be turned on by your own body if you aren't the one inside it?- but it's still _Furiosa_ with him, and that makes the difference.

She lets out an amused puff of air and then she's kissing him, the both of them clumsy at first with all the changes. Just as he hits his stride he loses it again, moving to roll over on top of her and at once remembering all the differences from a normal morning.

Furiosa lets herself be rolled, but he stops without doing anything else. If she has a problem with him in her body he's sure she'd speak up, and he doesn't mind that it's her inside of his, but he still feels a bit weird about the fact that he's feeling her from the inside-out.

Her hands move down to his hips- he's pretty sure the both of them are deliberately not focusing on how she has two and he has one at the moment- and slide up his sides, dragging the thin sleep shirt up with them.

"You know," she says, contemplative, "I've always wondered what a blowjob feels like."

Max raises his eyebrows at her and she smirks a little bit at him. Then her eyelids lower, gaze darkening. She licks her lips, and they're his own lips so by itself it doesn't do a whole lot, but he can admit he has a pretty decent mouth, especially when Furiosa's doing things with it. "How many times do you think I can make you come before I'm ready again to fuck you?"

Well, when she puts it like that... He dips down to kiss her again, this time rubbing against where she's hard underneath him. He doesn't actually know how long it'll take; they don't tend to roll straight from one fuck to the next, and he doesn't know if the switch will affect anything on that front either. He's certainly never come as quick together as she can.

He's as familiar with his dick as anyone would be, but he has to admit that looking at it from such a changed perspective is disorienting. Furiosa watches as he draws what's currently her dick out into the air, mouth falling slack when he handles her exactly the ways he likes best.

"That's... different," she says, and he huffs an amused breath.

With his next breath he's sucking her dick into his mouth, rusty with how long it's been since he did this last. She makes a strangled noise and Max attempts to take her down into his throat but he pulls back a second later, coughing.

One of her hands brushes over the top of his head, like she's making sure he's okay, and in reply he fists his hand around her shaft and strokes while getting his mouth back around the tip. He focuses on the basics this time, just suction and the swirl of his tongue, until he's comfortable enough to start moving his head in time with his hand.

Furiosa continues to make appreciative noises, her hips twitching upwards but never so much that she's forcing herself in too deep. Her hand doesn't leave his head, feels huge as it curves around the nape of his neck.

He slides his hand away, frustrated that he has only the one to use, and cups her balls, rolls the thin skin in between his fingers. She comes without warning, crying out as cum suddenly spurts down his throat.

Max hastily pulls away, coughing again as some of it threatens to go down the wrong pipe.

"Sorry," she says breathlessly, "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

He shakes his head and gets the coughing under control. "Warning next time-" he pauses to cough- "might be nice."

"Next time, huh?" Furiosa says, but when he looks at her face with a quelling look there's still apology in her expression under the mirth.

He tucks her spent dick back inside her pants and stretches out again, half on top of her. His new breasts are a strangely sensitive pillow, his new pussy sliding wetly against itself as he moves his legs. He has never been so aware of his nipples in his entire life.

Max kisses her and rolls his hips down against her body. "Mm, my turn."

It takes the span of a few kisses- lazy on her end, hungry on his- for her to start really touching him. He feels... wet, in a way he hadn't really thought could be felt, and his new clit throbs when she puts her hand between his legs and presses just so.

"Get up here," Furiosa says, hand reaching further back to grab where his ass meets his thigh; it's surprisingly sensitive in a way he's filing away for future exploration. "Sit on my face."

He's done a few things in his life, but sitting on someone's face isn't one of them. She's smiling at him like she knows this, just a hint of challenge in her eyes, and really it isn't any more strange than any other position.

Max peels his underwear off and walks on his knees over to her head, unable to look her in the eye because he feels very aware that it's _his_ face he's going to be kneeling over.

She isn't shy about manhandling him into place; he realizes with a jolt that she's stronger than him like this, that it would be much easier than usual for her to get him pinned. Then one of her hands is spreading open the lips of his pussy, and before he can really process how _that_ feels her mouth is on him and he's gasping.

Furiosa lets out a rumbling chuckle underneath him which doesn't at all detract from the way she's focusing on his pussy, mouth hot and wet, tongue fluttering over his clit in a rhythm that almost precisely matches the throbbing. It's different than how it feels to have a mouth on his dick, different from anything else he's really felt before, might bear a passing resemblance to kissing if he squints and tilts his head.

He doesn't really notice that what he's feeling is an orgasm building until it crashes over him, makes everything go hot and slick while his hips rut against her mouth. Normally he'd enjoy any aftershocks and then feel pretty satisfied, but she keeps licking and sucking and it stays feeling pleasurable, doesn't ever quite ever tip over into being too much.

Max shouts when he comes a second time right on the heels of the first, hand fisted into her hair, body wracked with tremors at the sensations.

Then she backs off a bit, tongue brushing around but not actually against his clit, letting him catch his breath. His heart is racing.

"That's," he tries to say, but can't manage to get any more words out.

Underneath him Furiosa hums, and if he could see her expression he gets the feeling it would be smug. Then she brings one of her hands further up his thigh, until he can feel fingers sliding between his pussy and her mouth.

She pauses, asking permission, and he croaks out a "yes please" that has her swiping right over his clit as if she's rewarding him for giving the right answer. Having a finger inside of his cunt is entirely different than having one up his ass. He can't even quantify _how_ , just knows that he's never felt anything quite like this before and won't get a chance to again until next year.

He moans without reservation when her fingers start rubbing and pressing against the front of his walls, another sensation that doesn't really feel like anything he can compare to. Max's hips keep rocking against her mouth as she works him over, drawing out what feels like an impossible number of orgasms until he's chanting her name under his breath, unsure if he wants her to stop or to keep going forever.

Eventually though, she slides her fingers out from inside of him and stops moving her mouth, instead pushing him away from her face. His legs feel like jelly, uncoordinated as he tries to move back to give the both of them space.

"Good?" she asks.

He makes a sort of whimpering noise in answer, too overwhelmed by the feeling of it to even attempt speech. When he looks at her face her mouth is swollen red, her expression exactly as smug as he'd predicted it would be.

"Can I fuck you?" Furiosa asks, and he glances down at where her- his; their?; whatever- cock is jutting into the air, flushed red and hard again.

He takes stock of his body, the wrung-out feeling of his borrowed pussy. After having her fingers inside of him he definitely wants to feel what her dick is like, but he suspects he's on the edge of sore. "Gimme a minute," he replies.

She huffs an amused breath and pats the outside of his thigh before he moves, sliding away from her head to lay himself down along the length of her body. He kisses her languidly, squeezing his thighs together while her hands play with his breasts. That, too, feels different- not just the added weight and volume at his chest but the way his nipples respond, how it doesn't really make his pussy get hotter so much as spreads out across his entire skin.

Max nods his head when he thinks he's ready again.

"Maybe not facing one another," she says.

He runs his eyes over her face- runs _her_ eyes over _his_ face- and nods again. "Yeah, okay."

They arrange themselves with care for his busted knee- early in the morning like this it's probably fine, but if he doesn't have to subject her to the spasms of a bad day he doesn't want to- and he feels her body pressing up against his back, feels her dick rubbing between the crease of his thighs. Furiosa kisses the back of his neck, just to the side of the brand they share, and then slots her cock up against his pussy.

He reaches for her hip to encourage her and she pushes inside, larger and blunter and hotter than her fingers. He groans at the feeling and feels the vibration of her chest against his back as she does the same, until her hips are flush to his ass and the both of them are still as they adjust.

He's been fucked before but not like this- the sensation of having a dick in his cunt is entirely unlike having something in his ass, and he's never done even that with someone he cares about, someone he _trusts_ half as much as he does her.

"Can I move?" she asks, voice hoarse.

"Mmm," he hums in reply, gasping when she actually _does_. It isn't so much overwhelmingly good as it is overwhelmingly unfamiliar, but it still sends heat pulsing through him.

Max brings his hand down to his pussy, feels where her dick slides in and out of him- she moans at that, snaps her hips hard enough that he feels a cry of his own shaken out of him- and then starts touching his clit. With that element added to it he finds his breath coming short almost immediately, does his best to squeeze down muscles he doesn't ordinarily have while he rocks his hips between his fingers and her dick.

She lasts just long enough to fuck him through the aftershocks of what is a truly fantastic orgasm, his whole body buzzing and aglow.

She's heavy against him, body slack and relaxed, and suddenly the press of a broad male body against his sparks at his nerves the wrong way. He shudders out from underneath her, easily pushing off her halfhearted and probably instinctive attempt at keeping him in place. It's not the sort of thing that sends him skittering away entirely, that makes him flash with memories and lash out, but he still needs a moment to collect his space again.

Furiosa watches him sit on the edge of the bed with half-lidded eyes, not moving from her position. He takes a settling breath and then runs his hand through her hair, longer than she ever wears her own. It stands up ridiculously in the back and he wonders if that's because he was sleeping or if that's just how his hair usually looks.

"Wanna see how long it takes the girls to notice?" he asks.

She smiles at him a bit wickedly in reply.


End file.
